I´ve got here a few images from Potemkine, the 1925 movie by Serguei Eisenstein, about the events in 1905 that would trigger the Russian revolution. A lot has already been said about S.E. and his work, great deal of the cinema theories, are born from his movies, the montage tecniques, the rythm, the photography, the image composition and so on. The movies has all the elements that make it modern even by today´s standards, even the idealistic communist naiveness is present. Prefered for a while by the Soviet power, Eisenstein has ended his life sent to Central Asia (Siberia?), when the Germans were at Moscow´s gates and when Stalin saw he was being criticized, but that one is Ivan the Terrible, and it´s just another story.

A program on Arte about Qi, the vital energy and Taoists in China. A few gorgeous pictures emerge. The Qi flows in the body through invisible channels which existence nobody has yet proven . The fact is that Chinese traditional medicine exists for centuries and acunpuncture a commun practice which can´t be denied.

Sunday, 19 April 2009

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door- Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;- Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"- Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice: Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;- 'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door- Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered- Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!-Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted- On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted- nevermore!

1999. By David Fincher. Reseen after a few years. Excelent and always actual. I´d like to have more time to read Palahniuk, he won´t let me down for sure. And by mere coincidence, I am the real Tyler Durden!

I've met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, "Why?" Why did I cause so much pain? Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can't I see how we're all manifestations of love? I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God's got this all wrong. We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. And God says, "No, that's not right." Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can't teach God anything. ~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club, Chapter 30

from the movie Fight Club, 1999screenplay by Jim Uhls, directed by David Fincher

Narrator: Tyler, what the fuck is going on here?Tyler Durden: I ask you for one thing, one simple thing.Narrator: Why do people think that I'm you? Answer me!Tyler Durden: Sit.Narrator: Now answer me, why do people think that I'm you.Tyler Durden: I think you know.Narrator: No, I don't.Tyler Durden: Yes, you do. Why would anyone possibly confuse you with me?Narrator: Uh... I... I don't know.[Random flashbacks]Tyler Durden: You got it.Narrator: No.Tyler Durden: Say it.Narrator: Because...Tyler Durden: Say it.Narrator: Because we're the same person.Tyler Durden: That's right.

I look through the window and I see bees, flowers, birds and the whole world flowering. The trees are covered of small leaves and white flowers. And they still talk about crisis. Now who's trying to insert comments in Chinese with links to porn sites and luxury hotels, in my posts. That's the second that delete. It has to be that network of hackers that's infiltrated in the computers of several embassies. The great China has turned into a pirate nation. Just now?